


all your compliments and your cutting remarks (are captured here in my quotation marks)

by jessicamiriamdrew



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/pseuds/jessicamiriamdrew
Summary: aka, the Dianetti You've Got Mail au that no one had written so I had to do it.





	1. you’re old enough to know better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i, of course, do not own a damn thing. you don't need to have seen you've got mail for this, just have a little faith in me about dianetti happening! (although you should watch it.)

The sunlight is too bright even with her pillow clutched over her head for Rosa to ignore. Adrian is already prattling on about the latest story in the New York Times. “Did you know you can’t even joke about murdering your coworkers anymore? The feds just fired someone for that!”

“Morning,” she huffs, pulling the pillow off her face. “I did not know that.”

God, she is not a morning person, and she likes Adrian, but he’s so damn intense. In the mornings, and really, all the time.

“Did you make coffee?” she asks as she gets out of bed. She’s a little sore from yesterday’s investigation, but she’ll survive. Rosa is already in the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth, by the time Adrian manages to stop talking about the New York Times and respond.

“That stuff is terrible for you,” he says. “Don’t you want tea instead?”

Rosa spits in the sink and turns to face him. “The first time we met, you were high on cocaine.”

Adrian shrugs, holding up his hands to placate her. “But caffeine, it’s a hell of a drug—“

“Aren’t you late?” Rosa pushes past him into the bedroom, drawing her robe tighter around her shoulders. She eyes her laptop, sitting there oh so innocently.

“Oh, shit, yeah, I promised I’d get Scully and Hitchcock into the range early. Thanks, babe!” He grabs her by the wrist and kisses her goodbye. Rosa rolls her eyes, albeit good naturedly.

Rosa watches him walk away, through her sparse but tasteful apartment. After the door slams, she carefully and slowly counts the how many different items in the foyer have yellow.

She’s always been too cautious. She’s not doing anything wrong now, but—well, she’s allowed to have some secrets from Adrian. She pours herself a cup of coffee (thank god Adrian didn’t turn off her automatic coffee maker in a fit of pique) and sits down at her kitchen table.

Her laptop is slow to boot up and she takes a few impatient sips of her coffee. When it finally is ready to go, she carefully opens an incognito tab in her browser. Honestly, Rosa isn’t sure Adrian could even use her laptop if he needed to—that’s never been his strength, but who knows. And having a dummy email account is never a bad idea.

Rosa calls this her spam account. She clicks through and deletes all the emails about being owed money and the trick that makes doctors hate a local woman.

But she has an email from who she was hoping: TheParisOfPeople.

_Dear leatherjacket4hire:_

Brooklyn is a nice place in the fall, although I’ll never admit that to anyone other than you and my brother. It’s crisp all around and I don’t feel like murdering them as much. Plus, the High Holidays are a nice benchmark. Apples and honey all around.

__

__

_On a more important note, celebrity sightings in sweaters increase by a thousand percent. God, I hope Beyonce and Blue Ivy will pop up in matching sweaters. My brother thinks I’m crazy, but he also thought quinoa was a fish. No accounting for taste. I’m sure you’re far too cultured to say such a thing._

Rosa snorts as she reads the email. She still doesn’t get Paris’ obsession with celebrities but it’s endearing where she suspects it’d be obnoxious in anyone else.

__

_Another secret that I’ll share with you is that I’m a great baker. I’d send you a blueberry pie if I could—much better than that bakery you swear by—but not knowing where you live makes it hard. Although we both value our privacy. I already get too much public attention as is._

-

Gina wanders, still in her pajama shorts, into the kitchen full of the scent of coffee and the smells of breakfast.

“Darling,” Charles says. “We were out of free range chicken eggs, so I had to substitute with quail—“

Gina tries to hide her grimace by pulling her sweater over her head. “My favorite,” she says. They could just not buy free range organic eggs, but she knows Charles would give her an hour long lecture about the delicate and subtle taste difference, and, well, not today.

“The Vulture died,” he says, pouring himself an espresso into a metallic coffee tumbler. “One less person I’m not speaking to; his food reviews were god awful and he should feel terrible about that.”

It’s a little early to be glad someone died, Gina thinks, but maybe she won’t have to hear about that again.

“I didn’t have time to pour you a macchiato, do you think you can manage?” Charles is already dressed to go, briefcase waiting for him on the counter.

“Yes, Charles,” Gina says. “We do have a two-thousand-dollar coffee machine.”

Charles preens for a moment—he’d given it to her last Channukah—before he leans across the counter to give her a kiss.

“We’ve got a dinner tonight, don’t forget. That true crime with recipes book author is having a party tonight, and I snagged an invite.”

Gina slides down into her seat. She hasn’t had any coffee, and already Charles is reminding her of her obligations.

“Gina, you promised. Besides, I heard Chrissy Teigen might be there. Please,” he says.

“Fine,” she says. “There better be good food or I’ll leave, I swear, Charles.” She’s not holding out hope for Chrissy Teigen.

Charles knocks his knee against the kitchen island and winces. “See, that’s how upset you’ve got me, thinking I’d take you somewhere with bad food.”

She coughs and stands up, leaning in to give him a kiss goodbye. “You’re already late for your interview, aren’t you?”

“Crap! I’ll see you tonight!” He grabs his coffee and his briefcase and almost runs out of the apartment, crashing into something on the way.

Thank god, she thinks. She loves him most of the time but these conversations before she’s had coffee—well. If anything will end their relationship, it’s weird foods and a lack of coffee. Gina forces herself to make herself her morning macchiato before looking on her personal phone for a message from leatherjacket4hire.

Honestly, the future is great. She’s got her personal, social media, and burner email account all easily available from her phone. Gina has already dispensed with the emails on her work phone, and she takes her coffee and personal phone over to her couch. She curls into her sweater as she sits down. There’s a nice chill in the air—too warm for heat, but too cool for air conditioning.

_I like pretending this is face to face, that I’m not typing this all out. Checking my email is the first thing I do in the morning, sometimes even before my coffee. The inbox (1) screen is the best way to start my day. Even still, I’m not sure anything you bake could be better than The Flatbush Diner but I’ll concede it could be good. I’m always on the search for a good pie, so maybe one day._

Gina knows it’s a bit bizarre to have an email penpal with someone she met arguing in the yelp comments section over the best ice cream selection in the city. Weirdly, it seems like something Charles would approve of, hence her devotion to a burner account.

_My friend, the one who would horrify you with her fashion sense, is also a terrible cook. We always do a potluck for the holidays, and we’ve had to relegate her to bringing alcohol. Anything she cooks results in food poisoning. I know they say you can’t fuck up a tv dinner, but I’ve witnessed it._

Gina smiles, even as she’s eagerly mentally composing insults about The Flatbush Diner’s atrocious food. She’s energized even though her coffee languishes on the coffee table. She lingers over the message, reading it a few more times, before starting a reply. Messages from Jake pop up on her screen as she types but Gina ignores them all for now. She’d like to stay in this brief, cozy cocoon for a few moments more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fic title and chapter titles, so far, are from the song 'everyday i write the book'. a sort of weird choice, but i think the lyrics are very appropriate.
> 
> anyway, i realize the emails may seem a bit ooc but this is a little intentional–both of them are being deliberately vague about some key aspects of their life.
> 
> have i been to brooklyn a few times? yes. do i know a ton? no lmao.
> 
> gina is referring to jake as her brother. easier than her saying ‘well, my best friend from childhood–”
> 
> the line about thinking quinoa is a fish is a nod to gone girl. don’t worry, it’s only a reference, and i will not be gone girl-ing in any other way here. i just really like the line and think jake would probably for real think that.
> 
> gina is jewish, just as she is in every single fic i’ve ever written with her, xoxo
> 
> gina and charles parents are almost def not gonna get together in this fic, i think it’d be too weird.


	2. don't tell me you don't know what love is

Rosa has a good feeling about the day when she finally leaves her apartment to head to work. She does love fall and Brooklyn is bustling with energy as the city awakens. Amy will be mad that she’s a few minutes late but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to reply to TheParisofPeople. She stops for coffee on the way—grabbing enough for the three of them.

As expected, Amy is leaning against the door to Excellent Private Investigator Agency, checking her phone and playing with her long, brown hair. “Rosa, it’s 9:07! We could be missing phone calls!” Amy tugs at her crisp business suit like it’s physically painful to not be inside. It probably actually is, knowing her.

“We have voicemail, you know,” Rosa says, tossing the keys over to her. Amy huffs, but catches the keys and has the door open before Rosa likely could. “This is what happens when you lock your keys in the office, Amy.”

(They’d all had to come to an agreement that despite their ability to do so, lock picking their own office was not the best practice to engage in, except in cases of actual emergency.)

“You don’t usually bring coffee,” Amy says as Rosa hands over her cup.

Rosa shrugs, setting down her and Holt’s coffee on the front counter. Holt will be in later, since he’s working his way to a transitional retirement. She walks back to the door to flip the sign to open, and then pulls up the blinds in the window. “I’m having a good morning,” she says. Rosa can’t help the smile that flits across her face at the hazy fantasy of eating a pie baked by TheParisofPeople.

“You have the look of a woman in love,” Amy says, sipping at her coffee.

Rosa’s smile subsides, but only slightly.

“I’m not in love,” she says. “I mean,” she pauses. Amy is giving her that look that means she’s slipped up somehow. “Adrian. Obviously, I’m in love, Santiago, don’t be stupid.”

Amy quirks an eyebrow and Rosa curses herself for switching to her last name. It’s a far too noticeable sign that Amy hit a nerve and Amy is the smartest person she knows. Even if Amy wasn’t a private investigator.

“Can you get the case files reorganized by Monday?” Rosa asks. Amy loves organizing. It’s easy bait for someone like her.

“Mm, you know my mom’s coming to see me for a few days. What’s going on, though?” Amy even sits down in the chair behind the counter. “I’m perfectly happy to catch up on emails right here.”

Damn. Amy is not going to let her out of this. Rosa steels herself and drags a chair from the office to sit down next to Amy. It could be nice to get Amy’s opinion on this. Amy’s moral compass is the best Rosa has ever encountered and maybe that’s what she needs.

“It doesn’t count as cheating when it’s email. Right?” Rosa grabs her coffee and takes a long swallow. She grimaces: still too hot for drinking.

Amy’s eyebrow shoots up so far Rosa is momentarily concerned for her hairline. “Have you had sex? Because…well, that could be unsafe, you know.”

“I haven’t met her!” Rosa says. “Email, Amy.”

“But…sexting? Photos?” Amy asks, eyes wide. The last guy Amy dated was so boring that Rosa forgot his name immediately and had to be reintroduced every time they were in the same room. This might be the most scintillating conversation Amy has had in years.

“No! She doesn’t even know my name.” _Or me hers_ , she thinks. She’s often wondered what kind of name someone like her would have. It’s bizarre to think of her as possibly an Ashley.

“Well, you shouldn’t sext. You know that always comes back to bite you in the ass.”

“I know that. Half our case load is people finding a sext on their boyfriend’s phone.”

“But,” Rosa continues. “It’s not like that. We email, and chat about our lives. I should probably stop, though.” She doesn’t want to but this conversation is making Rosa feel like she’s in over her head.

“But you like her,” Amy says.

“All I know is that she lives in Brooklyn and she likes pie. That’s how we met. In the yelp comments section.”

“That’s practically romantic, for you,” Amy says. “So you just started chatting?”

“Someone in the comments section told us to shut the fuck up and take it to email. So we did. We talk about the best desserts, and the way Brooklyn looks in the fall, and celebrity sweaters…”

“Wait, what?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t know where she lives, or her name, or what she does for a living. It’s nothing. I’ll stop emailing her.”

“She could be anyone!” Amy points to a woman walking past the shop. “What if that’s her?”

The jangle of the door barely covers Rosa’s _oh thank god_. 

“Morning sir!” Amy stands up from her chair, always eager to greet their boss. Rosa’s not even slightly surprised Amy has Holt’s footsteps memorized. Rosa sighs, but stands up to welcome Holt as well. 

Raymond Holt pauses when he enters the foyer. “Good morning Diaz, Santiago. What were you discussing before I walked in?”

“Online dating,” Amy says, handing Holt the coffee that Rosa brought in.

Holt shakes his head. “Too personal. No one wants to hear that, Santiago.”

One of the many things Rosa likes about her boss turned long time mentor. He has so little tolerance for discussion of their personal lives. When she’d briefly dated his nephew, Marcus, the resulting dinner between the four of them (including Holt’s husband) was so awkward she’d nearly broken up with Marcus on the spot.

“Not me, sir. _Rosa_.”

She glowers at Amy as Holt stares at her. 

“Did you and Adrian end your involvement?” Holt asks. There’s no expression on his face, like usual, and it’s maddening. As usual.

“No, sir,” she says, throwing Amy another death glare.

“I’ve never been so disappointed,” Holt says as he walks past them both into his office. Rosa waits a beat, waits for the door to close and classical music to start playing.

“Amy! What the fuck!”

“I couldn’t live with Holt’s disappointment,” Amy says, saccharine sweet. “Maybe you _shouldn’t_ stop chatting with this person.”

“I have paperwork to do,” Rosa says, grabbing her chair and heading her to her desk slightly further back. A token protest at best, but she’ll take whatever victories she can against Amy today.  
-  
from: leatherjacket4hire  
 _Every morning, every evening, whenever I get out my laptop, and see an email from you—well. I can’t think of anything else but you until I read it._  
-  
“The internet company called, they said they won’t have the whole office fit up with wi-fi until tomorrow, some kind of problem— “Jake jogs to catch up with her, mouth talking a mile a minute.

Gina wonders how Jake is surprised she’s late after knowing him their entire lives, practically.

“Sounds great, Jake.” She wants to sit down and reread her latest email from leatherjacket4hire but their grand opening is soon.

“Uh, Gina?” Jake asks, still following her. “Are you even listening to me?”

Gina turns to give him a grin and a hug. “Of course, sweetie.” She is not. “Are the technicians setting up the internet?”

“I just said they won’t be here until tomorrow.”

“I can’t think of anything else,” Gina says absentmindedly. The email thread is fresh in her mind, tantalizing her. 

“Wait, did you and Boyle get engaged? I swear, I thought he would’ve told me. Unless, oh my god, did you propose?” That snaps her back to the real world. Jake is _delighted_ ; she’s pretty sure that’s the Die Hard marathon on tv tone.

Gina stops dead in her path to her brand-new corner office. “Engaged? What are you talking about?” 

“Well, I thought you and Boyle were so happy—and you look so happy this morning—“ 

Jake’s joy is visibly deflating as he continues to talk.

“We are very happy. I love him. He makes amazing food.” Gina pauses. “Are we on schedule to open, otherwise?”

“Two weeks before Thanksgiving, and we’ll be good to go, boss.”

“Mmm. We better make sure that everyone knows, _boss_. Put up signs.” 

Gina sighs, thinking about the protests that had happened at their last location. Small scale, probably boosted by supportive unions, but still. It’s disheartening. Not her and Jake’s fault that they’re so good at what they do.

“We’ll win them the neighborhood over with our sweet tech, low rates, and our duality as investigators and security consultants.”

“The End of Civilization,” Gina quotes. “Like it’s so bad to be successful.”

Jake claps her on the shoulder. “We’ll convince them. We’re bringing jobs to the area, and we _are_ a family owned business, after all.”

-  
from: TheParisOfPeople  
 _My mother has decided to get married again. I understand it, on some level. Women in this family are fascinating. But she’s been married six times now. Me, personally, I’ve been engaged a few times, but I’ve never gone through with it. Never felt quite right, and what’s the point of being together if it doesn’t? Sure, Elizabeth Taylor was okay, but I think I want something more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, in you've got mail--meg ryans character owns a small independent bookstore, and tom hanks is one of the owners of a big book store chain moving into town. does a small PI firm against an investigation and security firm seem a little silly? yes, but this is intended to be a little silly, so ssshh. plus this way i get to keep some of the detective elements!
> 
> shout out to my pal liz for suggesting the name of the detective agency, as a nod to ron swansons shop
> 
> i'm my own beta reader, so uh, forgive me 
> 
> find me on tumblr, if you want!


End file.
